


Fool's Gold

by rebeccastceir



Series: Posse [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst and Smut, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, Cowboy AU, Humor, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Slurs, Wild West AU, bar fight in a saloon, cuz i can't handle it either, fast burn romance, it's a western with our favorite cowboy and his ninja, it's practically sex at first sight, it's probably not as dark as it sounds, most of the nasty stuff will happen off-stage, no enemies just lovers, no slow burn, period-typical violence, read the tags people!, that said, the fastest burn in the west, the holy trinity of fanfic, this is not a drill!, what's not to like??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccastceir/pseuds/rebeccastceir
Summary: The 1800's brought hundreds of thousands of Chinese immigrants to American shores in search of the fabled Gold Mountain - and a better life. It also brought one Japanese ninja, looking to restore his honor.US Deputy Marshall Jesse McCree is in California looking to recruit men for a posse. He didn't expect to find his best candidate in the slums of China Town. Racism of the era says Hanzo Shimada is the last man in the world Jesse should give a badge to.He and Hanzo are too busy saving a boatload of girls from prostitution to care.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, McHanzo
Series: Posse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108601
Comments: 45
Kudos: 76





	1. Never Bring a Katana to a Gun Fight

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one-shot.
> 
> _This was going to be a one-shot._
> 
> THIS WAS GOING TO BE A ONE-SHOT
> 
>   
> _sigh_
> 
>   
> It ain't a one-shot.

Jesse sat at the bar and watched the room behind him through the mirror. It was the usual crowd, had been for a week, and his hopes were dim. He’d been sent on a mission, and he couldn’t go back to Gabe with nothing to show but a hangover - Gabe’d never let him hear the end of it. He raised his finger at the bartender for another pour - he’d been good for it all week, he’d be good for it now - and took another look around.

No. They were not an inspiring bunch.

Plenty of them had plenty of muscle, but, well, Jesse’d been here for a _week_. He’d charmed, schmoozed, gambled, and drunk his way around the room, talking to _all_ of the regulars. And none of them would _do_.

He knew the partic’lar kind of men Gabe needed. He knew what they’d be asked to do. He knew what it’d do to their heads. And, frankly, Jesse could barely spend an _evening_ in most of their comp’ny. He couldn’t _imagine_ spending weeks together on end. On the job, they’d get people killed.

He raised his hand for another shot -

Dropped it when a flash of blue and gold caught his eye.

He turned his head towards the door, keeping his attention low and his head down.

A Chinaman, taller and sturdier than most of them, dressed - Jesse could only call it _weirdly_ , he didn’t know the words. What looked like a silk bathrobe over his top half, baggy black pants, long yellow ribbon pulling back his hair. Two bladed weapons at his waist. He carried himself like a warrior - judging by the way he gave ground, a warrior who knew not to antagonize a room full of guns - as he stood by the door surveying the room.

When he spotted his quarry, the man’s attention sharpened, and he stalked across the room like some kinda predator. Jesse watched through the mirror, fascinated, as the man hunted down the only other Chinaman in the room - a weaselly little character named Yella Joe, whom Jesse’d realized _right_ off the bat should not be trusted with a _bug_ , let alone a gun. The bigger Chink went and stood by Yella Joe, dropped a bag of somethin’ on the table in front of him. Yella Joe looked up. The big Chink said somethin’ to him. After a few moments Joe held up a hand to stop him, and then waved him into a chair for a talk.

That was fine with Jesse. He had a _perfect_ view of the two of them through the mirror.

And that was where things got interestin’. If Jesse was any good at readin’ body language - and he was - then this was a local warlord, Yella Joe, bein’ bargained at by a lone gunman - or swordsman in this case - for hire. And neither of them were happy. Jesse couldn’t hear what they were sayin’, but the lone warrior was clearly upset, and if Jesse had to guess, he’d say Yella Joe had reneged on a bargain. The warrior kept waving at the bag - Jesse guessed it was money - trying to urge Joe to take it, to let it be enough. But Joe must’ve kept raisin’ the price, because the bigger man was growing increasingly angry. Finally he pushed to his feet.

“You cheat and lie,” he spit, in rough, deep English. “You have no _honor._ ”

Joe watched him walk away, before taunting, “Yes. But I have your money.”

The bigger man stopped.

_Walk away_ , Jesse thought, even as he knew instinctively that he wouldn’t. He could _see_ pride wrestling with principle.

Finally the bigger man turned around. Glided back over to the table like a panther. Made a grab for the bag.

Joe snatched it away, grinning at him.

Jesse could see the fight before it started.

Joe taunted.

The Chinaman grabbed Joe by front of his shirt, bodily hauled him out of his chair, and then head-butted him.

Joe staggered, dropping the bag.

The warrior dropped Joe into his chair, bent and scooped up the bag, and turned to go.

Two of Joe’s henchmen - white men, hired guns, both as ill-principled as their boss - moved to block his path.

Jesse didn’t hear what the Chinaman said to them, but it’s possible it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. When he stepped forward as if to pass between them, they moved closer, blocking. Jesse saw their right hands move - prolly to their guns. He felt his own muscles clench, bracing. He couldn’t see what the big Chinaman did - the hired guns were in the way.

But suddenly all hell broke loose.

One went flying backward, bent double, as if he’d been lassoed, his gun hand swinging wide, fingers gripping reflexively, firing a wild shot into the air. Someone screamed, but Jesse couldn’t even register all that before the Chinaman had the other gunslinger’s hand twisted behind him, gun dropping from nerveless fingers, put a foot in his ass, and _pushed_ him into another crowded table full of poker players. The gunslinger crashed through the table, spilling cards and coins, angering the men who’d been ignoring everything.

Then the Chinaman just stood there, eyeballing them gravely, as if making sure they’d stay down.

Rookie mistake.

Jesse spotted Yella Joe’s _other_ thugs come up behind him and give him a rough shove, knocking him towards the bar.

He crashed into Jesse’s back, his face twisting with surprise and annoyance and _anger_ \- giving way to surprised interest when Jesse grinned at him in the mirror. Up close the man was quite good-looking, and Jesse could tell by the muscles draped across his back that he was no lightweight. The robe did a _fabulous_ job of hiding that. Jesse winked.

The Chinaman grinned back. Realized, in the exact same instant, that the mirror afforded him a fantastic view of the thugs coming up behind him, and shot Jesse another grin before throwing himself backwards, elbows first, dropping both men with wheezing grunts.

Yella Joe chose that unfortunate moment to stand up, holding his bloody broken nose, and yell “That man stole my gold!”

The bar turned into a melee, as gunslinger and gold miner alike threw themselves at the lone Chinaman. Not in the hope of saving Joe’s money - they all knew he was a crook - but in the hopes of stealing it for themselves and working out a little aggression on the inferior race.

Jesse saw the spark of interest lighting the man’s eyes, the _smile_ that spread his face, as he realized what was happening. Jesse turned around in his seat to watch the show.

A show it was.

He could’ve called it from the beginning, though it was still a pleasure to watch. The man moved like a dancer, hidden strength and deceptive grace. If the cowboys and gunslingers and miners had all been sober enough to gang up on him, they might’ve had a chance. But after the first round they were all bloodied, out for blood, and too drunk to think straight.

Trouble was, more of Joe’s thugs showed up, and they _were_ sober. They waded into the bar fight toward the Chinaman with murder in their eyes.

Jesse put his drink down, flipped some coins at the bartender to settle his tab, and waded in, too. He was taller than average, with broad shoulders and meaty fists that made most men think twice, and the ones that didn’t wish they had've. But the Chinaman was quickly surrounded, more of Joe’s thugs coming to help their boss, and Jesse began picking off the circle until he was standing in the middle with him. The Chinaman backed into him, spinning quickly, hands at the ready -

When he caught sight of Jesse, he paused.

“Looks like y’could use a hand,” Jesse drawled, turning his back to the man and punching another thug. He felt the Chinaman brush into him again, before hearing the grunt of another punch and the smashing of table and chairs. “We need to get out a’ this.”

“Agreed,” the man said, his voice still pleasantly deep, and not, Jesse noticed, sounding at all winded.

There was a loud whistle outside, and some shouting.

“That’d be the law, pardner,” Jesse frowned.

The fighters doubled down, hoping to get their licks in before the lawmen broke it up. Jesse and the Chinaman worked together, punching and kicking their way towards the back door. Jesse finally knocked a man back, and the Chinaman did an astonishing spinning kick that dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Then he grabbed Jesse by the hand and dragged him through the hole in the fight.

Out, out, down the hallway and through the back door, shouts and hollers going up behind them, the pounding of boots and threats of violence. Jesse and the Chinaman ran, out into the moonlit dark, guns ringing through the air, the crack of wood nearby. The Chinaman turned on a dime, snaking through alleys, out into another street, where their running caught attention. More cries. Another gunshot.

Across the street, into another alley, more twists and turns, until they were in a part of town Jesse didn’t recognize, gunslingers still on their heels. They ran and ran, the Chinaman almost silent beside him, not huffing and puffing like Jesse was starting to.

“Gotta find - someplace - ta hide,” Jesse gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. “Hole up - til they pass us.”

They turned a corner, spotted some lawmen at the other end of the street, facing the other way. Jesse would’ve ducked back but he heard a noise behind them, and the Chinaman pulled him forward. Silently they darted down the block, and the Chinaman pulled him into a tiny space between two buildings. It was tight - their chests pressed each other, and Jesse could feel the other man’s pounding heartbeat, his heavy breathing. See, from this close, the sparkle in his eyes and the grin spreading his face as he wedged them in deeper, away from the moonlight, into the shadows. Jesse put his head back, trying to calm his labored breathing, ease the stitch in his side.

They heard footsteps getting close, as the posse behind them rounded the corner.

Jesse tried to hold his breath. Couldn’t - his pounding heart and lungs _hurt_ with the -

The Chinaman grabbed his head and kissed him.

Jesse suddenly didn’t hurt anymore. He was aware of his still-beating heart, his aching lungs. Heard the pounding of footsteps down the wooden sidewalk, guns drawn and men chattering angrily. Felt strong hands cupping his face, and a warm mouth making friends with his own. Jesse’s head spun a little bit.

If he’d a been a different kind of man, he’d’ve been offended.

Good thing he wasn’t a different kind of man.

Shouts up the block - “They ain’t here! Let’s try one over!”

Fading footsteps.

Silence.

The man let him go. Put his head back and laughed, silently.

Jesse could feel the vibration of it, pushed against his chest, feel the laughter bubbling up out of the man. Jesse didn’t know what to do or say. But the stitch in his side was gone. He kept eying the man in what little he could see of the moonlight.

When the warrior couldn’t hold it in silently anymore, real laughter bubbled to the surface. It was warm and deep, kinda gravelly, and Jesse quite liked it. Liked what he could see and feel, as the man laid his head back against the wall, rocking and laughing and laughing as adrenaline worked its way out of his system. Finally he reached two thick hands up and scrubbed the tears out of his eyes. He looked at Jesse. Cracked up again. 

Finally he got control of himself enough to ask “Are you hurt?”

Jesse shook his head, still at a loss for words. Finally managed “You?”

“Uninjured. I think it is safe now. Come.” He slid away from Jesse and down to the opening of the alley, took cautious looks around the corners of the buildings. His darker head went almost unnoticed in the moonlight, though the long ribbon in his hair glinted. He motioned for Jesse to follow him, and they slipped out onto the sidewalk, walking casually. 

After a few paces Jesse gathered up the long ends of the man’s hair ribbon and stuck his own hat on the man’s head, hiding the gold glint and the unusual hair cut. “Just in case,” he said, off the man’s startled look. “The rest a’ ya ain’t normal, but the less we look like us, the better.”

The man gave him a long sideways look from under the hat brim, but didn’t object. At the end of the street they stopped, instinctively realizing this is where they would split. Jesse felt his mouth opening, at the same instant the man said, “My hotel is this way. If you’d care to join me.”

Jesse felt himself nodding in relief. “That’d be great. Think I need a nightcap.”

More confusion. 

“Means a drink b’fore bed.”

“Ah.” The man turned to his right and started walking.

Jesse hurried to keep up. 

There was some cautious silence, and Jesse wondered if he’d put the man off. Finally the man asked “Do you not have a place in this town for -” he used some foreign word Jesse didn’t know.

“I’m sorry?” Jesse frowned. 

Some more thinking. “I do not know the correct… for men who prefer men.”

Jesse laughed quietly. “No need to _go_ anywhere, darlin’. Men ’re everywhere.” He paused a moment. “Includin’ here.” 

“I thought so,” the man hummed, smug. “You kissed me like it.” 

He _sounded_ smug too, the bastard.

“Hey! You kissed me.”

“Only to keep you quiet. You were breathing so loud -”

“Oh, hey now, I’d just run a-”

The man pushed him against a wall and kissed him again. Jesse pulled him a little bit closer and kissed him back. After a few seconds the man let him go. “You are breathing loud again,” he smirked, before he turned up the street.

Jesse realized he was in trouble, from his head to his pants. 


	2. China Town

He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed the man through the cheaper part of town, and then from there, as he expected, into the area designated China Town. The man gave Jesse’s hat back as he led the way through the narrowing streets, people parting and eying them suspiciously, but not making any move to stop them. Jesse hadn’t bothered looking here for the kind of man he needed, because of course he hadn’t. But clearly he should’ve - as they got deeper into the more rickety neighborhoods, the more people started greeting his companion with respectful little nods and bows. Some of them the man returned in kind, some with smiles. He lent a hand to an old lady with a basket of laundry bigger than she was. Jesse leaped to help too, taking some of the basket’s weight as they set it down in front of what he gathered was a laundry. She gave him a startled look, and then bowed at him too. Jesse mimicked the gesture, feeling awkward. They moved on.

“I din’t know there was so many Chinks in this town,” he admitted.

“Do not call them that,” the man reproved, annoyed.

“What? Chinks?”

“Yes.”

Jesse blinked. “What should I call ‘em, then?”

“Their names.”

Jesse fidgeted sheepishly. “I don’t know ‘em.”

Something muttered under his breath. “What do you call someone you respect?”

“Uh.” Jesse tugged an earlobe while he thought about it. “Sir and ma’am?”

“All right, then.”

_Definitely_ shoulda come to China Town.

He followed the man through a few more streets, until they came to a larger building that Jesse guessed was the hotel. It was fancier, festooned with lanterns. But it gave off a distinct saloon feel, and Jesse would’ve felt at home almost immediately, even without the Chinaman leading him inside. The other patrons eyed Jesse warily, as he would’ve eyed one of them in the other side of town, but he made sure to keep his hands in his pocket and his eyes nonthreatening, and followed the warrior to the bar itself. The warrior waited until the bartender was finished with another patron, and then pulled the bag out and handed it over.

The bartender’s face fell immediately, and he started to cry.

The warrior quickly put a hand on his shoulder and began murmuring, more of that sing-song language Jesse couldn’t understand, as the man crumpled in on himself. The warrior kept talking, kept talking, and Jesse couldn’t really even tell by the tone, but the _body language_ said the warrior hadn’t given up on whatever his mission was, and he was encouraging the bartender to hold out hope as well.

Finally the smaller man took a deep breath and pulled himself together, tucking the money up under the bar out of sight, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. He nodded. Babbled something Jesse couldn’t understand. Nodded some more. The warrior murmured and patted his shoulder.

The bartender finally looked up again - and spotted Jesse.

His entire face twisted with surprise and alarm.

The warrior reached a hand back and patted Jesse’s arm, still talking in that sing-song language.

The bartender looked cautiously between the two of them, but finally calmed down.

“What did you want to drink?” the warrior asked.

Jesse blinked. “Huh?”

“Your nightcap?” he prodded.

Jesse realized the man was talking to _him_. “Oh! Uh… shot a’ whiskey.”

The warrior translated, and the bartender immediately ducked away and came back with a shot glass and a bottle.

“Dontch you want one?” Jesse asked, as he raised his shot.

The warrior shook his head, watching him, amused, relaxed now that business was done. “I do not need a nightcap to go to bed.”

Jesse almost choked on his drink as he realized the man was making innuendo at him, and lowered his glass with a blush and a glare.

The warrior laughed, fishing a coin out of his pocket for Jesse’s drink, before heading for the stairs. “Come, cowboy,” he said over his shoulder, summoning Jesse to follow him. “I wish to make you a business offer.”

Jesse nodded his thanks at the bartender and caught up. He followed him up the stairs to the second floor, and the quieter rooms at the back, away from the saloon. The room was smaller, and more ordinary, but clean, and the man carefully took his shoes off inside the door. Jesse didn’t know if he was supposed to do the same, but the man didn’t mention it. Jesse cleared his throat. “You, uh, don’t have to make this a _business_ -”

The man stopped him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you know of how -” another word Jesse didn’t know “- come to be here?”

Jesse thought a minute. “Immigrants, you mean?”

The man mulled over the word, but nodded. He removed his sword belt, setting both weapons on the dresser and unsheathing them, carefully inspecting the blades one by one, running a dry cloth over them both before putting them aside and inspecting the sheaths. Jesse stood by the door and watched him, reflected in the room’s much smaller mirror.

“Not much, I guess,” Jesse admitted. “Call it Gold Mountain, dontcha?”

The man nodded, sliding the weapons away again. He moved on to undoing the elaborately-tied cloth belt around his waist. “They do.”

Jesse cleared his throat. “Imagine they come here same as we do, then. Lookin’ for a better life. Gold. Come over on boats.”

The man wrapped his belt around his hand and then laid the coil on the dresser next to the weapons. “Their home country is very crowded, and they are poor. Dishonest men tell them they can come here for free, and then pay back the cost of the boat ride when they get here.”

Jesse winced. He had a nasty feeling he knew where this was going. “Find the bill a little too steep when they get here though, don’t they?”

The man caught his eye in the mirror and nodded gravely. “Always. There is _always_ more to pay.”

Jesse nodded. “An’ that’s what you were seein’ Yella Joe about, wa’n’t it? Buyin’ someone free?”

The man nodded, shucking his robe.

Jesse felt a jump in his pants and quickly looked elsewhere, trying to keep his mind on business. But there was business, and there was _business_ … And he’d been hopin’ for the second kind.

“The man downstairs. Mister Li. His daughter.”

Jesse made a punched-out sound. “ _God_ ,” he muttered, disgusted. “Lemme guess, a whorehouse?”

The man had to think the word over, and then nodded again. Jesse’s eyes strayed over him. The warrior was as well-muscled as Jesse’d suspected at the saloon, with an elaborate tattoo - Jesse’d never _seen_ such an elaborate tattoo - tumbling down his left arm from shoulder to wrist. And his pants - Jesse’s breath hiccuped as the man half turned, laying the robe against the room’s only chair. The pants were opened at either side of the man’s hips, exposing pale, smooth -

_Focus, Jesse._ He mentally slapped himself. _Girl caught in a whorehouse._

Girls were not this interesting…

“I brought…” the man hesitated on the name “…Yewa Joe…” he couldn’t say the L’s properly, and it was the cutest thing Jesse’d ever heard “…the full amount of money he had asked for. But now he says it is not enough. There is another week’s worth of her food and room.”

“Same old scam,” Jesse sighed. When the man shot him a dark look Jesse nodded. “Yeah. People been pullin’ that one on each other since time began. White men do it, too. Call it ‘indentured servitude’. Really it’s slavery.”

The man nodded. His face was going stormy, and Jesse decided it was a helluva good look on him. Least it gave _him_ shivers, in all the best ways…

“Want help breakin’ her out?” Jesse guessed.

The man left off undressing and padded over to stand in front of Jesse, looking up at him in the lamp light. He studied him carefully, dark eyes roaming his face, and took the hat off, so he could get a better look. “You helped me in the tavern, without hesitation. Why?”

“Don’t like seein’ a man in an unfair fight,” Jesse shrugged. Realized that wouldn’t be enough, and added, “An’ everyone knows what Yella Joe is.”

“Why do the authorities not stop him?”

Jesse shrugged uncomfortably. Had a feeling the man before him already knew the answer. “Cuz they leave the Chinks - Chinamen - sorry - _y’all_ -” he waved “- to yourselves.”

“No one cares, if we do not inconvenience them.”

“Ezzactly.”

The man looked at him carefully again. “But you are here, and you are listening. You care?”

Jesse nodded.

“You will help me?”

“Darlin’, I’ll help ya burn the place to the ground.”

“Good. What is your price?”

“Sugar, I’ll do it for free.”

The man’s face lit up with a fierce, dangerous glow. He pushed up on tiptoe and kissed him hard, strong hands coiling in the lapels of Jesse’s overcoat to hold himself up. Jesse kissed him back, hands sliding to his waist, thumbs brushing the edge of his pants, all those acres of bare skin, that elaborate tattoo, just waiting to be explored.

“Wha’s your name, darlin’?” Jesse murmured, when he came up for air.

“Call me Hanzo.”

“I like it.”

The man hummed and pushed into him again, hands reaching up to the back of his neck. “You?”

“Jesse McCree. Call me Jesse. Or McCree. I like both.”

“Hmmm…” Hanzo hummed again, his hands sliding back down Jesse’s chest. “Jesse McCree, you are overdressed.”

“Sugar, I couldn’t agree more…”


	3. Sex & Business

Hanzo had very little patience with buttons, and, having gotten a good look at his clothes, Jesse could see why. He made them slow down enough to remove the gun belt and overcoat, and carefully set them aside. But everything else - Hanzo got frustrated and grabbed shirtfront and waistcoat and simply _ripped_ , scattering buttons everywhere. Jesse would’ve winced, but he was too busy getting his face sucked off. He moaned in relief as Hanzo’s strong, calloused hands met his bare skin.

“Darlin’, is anyone in this hotel gonna care if I’m noisy?”

“I assure you, they have heard far worse.”

“Good.” Jesse plunged his hands down to the man’s bare hips, and then around, inside the fabric, to grab his strong backside, lifting him up on his tiptoes.

Hanzo _mmpf_ ed with approval and pulled himself tighter. “You are still overdressed.”

Jesse was already down to pants and boots. “So ‘re you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jesse pivoted them around, looking for the bed, and toppled them into it. Hanzo didn’t seem to care who was where, as long as they got on with things. He helped Jesse fumble with his belt, push the baggy pants out of the way, and then made quick work of Jesse’s. It occurred to Jesse then, that maybe he shouldn’t be naked with a foreigner. But Hanzo grabbed him, twisted, and rolled, until it was Jesse on the bottom, one naked leg hiked around Hanzo’s waist, hands and mouths and bits that Jesse was too wrapped up in _feeling_ to really _think_ about. He wasn’t sure what Hanzo did afterward. He just knew it was _great_.

He woke in the narrow bed the next morning, pleasant memories and a hangover warring inside his head. He fished an arm out. Couldn’t find his companion. _Did_ find the edge of the bed, uncomfortably close, and wondered how on earth they’d managed to sleep the two of them in there together. He lifted his head cautiously, squinting in the bright light from the room’s one tiny window - somehow focused directly onto the bed. Prolly urging him not to dawdle. He let his eyes readjust.

Hanzo was gone. His weapons were still there.

Jesse’s overcoat and gun belt were nearby. His gun. His pants, draped atop the coat. Boots set neatly by the door. Shirt and waistcoat both missing.

Jesse didn’t have time to wonder before the door opened. He clenched the thin blanket around his waist, as a little bird of an Asian woman bustled in, humming cheerfully. She carried a tray of several somethings, all hot and steaming, and set them on top of the dresser. Then she stopped and looked carefully at Jesse.

Her face and mouth twisted, as she thought carefully about what she wanted to say, and how to say it correctly. “You…help…Hanzo, yes?” She smiled anxiously. “Get… daughter?”

Jesse nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’ll help him get your daughter. Lotta other people’s daughters, too.”

She didn’t seem to understand that last part, but bowed and smiled at getting the answer she wanted, and made her way back out the door. Jesse heard voices on the landing, and Hanzo appeared a moment later.

“You are awake,” he approved. He was dressed as he had been the day before, minus the weapons, everything neat and orderly. Jesse felt positively disheveled at the sight of him. Remembered what they’d done the night before. Felt _even more_ disheveled. “Missus Li -” Hanzo had a little difficulty with _all_ his L’s, Jesse realized, pronouncing Li a bit like ‘Wee’ or 'Ree', and it was _still_ the cutest fuckin’ thing Jesse’d ever heard “- has brought you breakfast. There is a bath house nearby, if you wish.”

“Uh. Where’s my shirt?”

Hanzo appeared to blush. “It is being mended. The…buttons will be replaced.”

Jesse laughed as he got out of bed. Noticed that it was Hanzo who looked away quickly as Jesse reached for his pants, pulling them on. He walked barefoot over to the dresser and inspected the tray. “I’m ‘sposed to eat all this?”

Hanzo glanced at it. “She…has brought you a lot. I think she is grateful, for you to help me.”

Jesse nodded. “You want some a’ this?”

“I have eaten.”

Jesse shrugged and carried the tray back over to the bed, seeing as how Hanzo occupied the room’s only chair. The food was good - what looked like noodles in broth, a lot of vegetables, a few bits of meat. A fat, warm bun of some kind. He wouldn’t have been able to stomach American food after the whiskey the night before, but the Asian food went down a treat. “This ’s delicious,” he said, around a slurp, doing his best to manage what Hanzo told him were called chopsticks. A faint smile crossed the warrior’s face at the compliment.

“I will tell her for you.”

Yep. Definite trouble with his L’s.

It was fuckin’ _adorable_.

The other main item on the tray was a little pot of tea, and while Jesse wasn’t a tea aficianado by any means, he dutifully drank it - it helped with his headache.

Hanzo left about halfway through, and came back with Jesse's shirt and waistcoat. He’d managed to find every button but one - Jesse mourned, realizing he’d missed the sight of the handsome warrior on his knees all morning looking for them - and whoever had done the sewing-on had replaced the missing button with something gold and far more decorative, right at the very top of the shirt, where it looked like it belonged. Jesse smiled with approval and finished getting dressed. Hanzo waited for him, donning his own weapons as Jesse buckled on his, and then leading him out into the hallway and down the stairs.

The bartender wasn’t at his usual place, but Hanzo ducked down a hallway to the back, where the kitchen was, and poked his head in. Jesse heard him exchange words with the cook, whom Jesse’d assumed was the bartender’s wife, and she came back out to smile and bow again.

“Excellent cookin’, Missus Li,” Jesse said carefully, smiling widely at her.

She glanced at Hanzo, and he translated.

Jesse didn’t miss the blush that spread across her cheeks, but she got shy and ducked away again quickly.

Hanzo led him back out into the street.

The sun was high already - higher than Jesse’d expected, but they talked as they walked. Hanzo finally corrected him - he was from _Japan_ , not China - but he was making his way around the territory pretty much as Jesse’d suspected, as a sword-for-hire, stopping at various Chinese settlements, looking for odd jobs and acting as a sort of escort and private security functionary for various well-to-do men. He had been able to pay his own way over - got dodgy about why - and so missed getting tangled up in the immigration schemes, only to hear about them later as he got asked, repeatedly, to help worried family members buy this or that relative out of slavery. Hanzo had been able to bargain or intimidate most slave-holders out of the desired people, but he was growing disgusted with the whole system. He wanted to know if Jesse meant what he said about burning the place down.

Jesse stuck his hands in his pockets and whooshed air out of his chest, thoughtful. “Well, I’ll tell ya,” he drawled carefully. “Burnin’ a place down gets real frowned on. _Real_ hard. Specially ‘round these parts, all these rickety wooden buildings. People ‘re liable to get hurt. _Innocent_ people,” he emphasized. “However,” he continued slowly, still thinking. “I am amenable to helpin’ ya get _all_ the girls outta this one if we can, get ‘em someplace safe.”

“But nothing more.” Hanzo sounded deeply disgusted, and deeply disappointed. But not surprised.

“This is somethin’ for the Federal Marshalls, Han. The _big_ lawmen. They don’ take kindly to this kinda thing, in _any_ form.”

“I have already spoken to them. They will not help.” He looked away, angry, and Jesse could feel it boiling off him. “They say it is the job for the _local_ sheriffs. And the local sheriffs -”

“Won’t help a Chinaman,” Jesse guessed. “Definitely won’t help the doves. Prostitution makes a helluva lot a’ money. And it keeps the men from gettin’ restless.”

Hanzo nodded, gloomy.

Jesse sighed. Thought it over. “Where is this place?”

Hanzo was, in fact, leading him there now. A few more twists and turns, and they were overlooking the bay.

It was a _ship_.

Jesse scrubbed his face.


	4. Bath House Rendezvous

They stood in the shadows and watched it for a while, while Hanzo told him everything he’d discovered so far.

The Lis had come over together - Mr Li unwilling to split up his family. They still owed for their passage of course, but Mr and Mrs Li had found work at the hotel, and had assumed their daughter would too. Instead, she’d been told she’d work “elsewhere”, was taken away, and… they hadn’t seen her since.

Her worried parents had scraped up what little money they could spare, and offered it to Hanzo as payment for his help.

He’d finally been able to figure out that the owner of the hotel was part of the scheme, along with Yella Joe and the owners of the ship. The hotel and the shipping company lent a thin veneer of legitimacy to the whole thing. Hanzo suspected single men got sent further east, to work on the railroad, while any young woman they could separate got sent back to the boat. He’d made contact, asking about the price of the girl’s freedom. He’d gotten work somewhere - he didn’t say where - and helped the Lis earn the money to buy her freedom, though Jesse suspected he must have some money stashed somewhere to earn it so quickly.

“Most of the time, this is enough,” Hanzo frowned, essentially admitting he’d done it before, and probably often. Jesse looked at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if _every_ odd job Hanzo’d taken had been to help families like the Lis.

“You offer 'em the money, intimidate ‘em into takin’ it, and then you get who ya came for,” Jesse guessed. “Only this time, Yella Joe didn’t budge.”

Hanzo scowled - at least partly irritated, Jesse guessed, that Jesse had been able to guess it so quickly - and nodded.

“How much more’s he want?”

“It is not much,” Hanzo shrugged. “I can get it in a day or two. It is the - the -” he muttered something.

“The principle of the thing.”

He mulled that phrase over for a bit and nodded. Then shot Jesse a sidelong glance. “How do you guess what I think?”

Jesse grinned at him. “We have an old sayin’: ‘Great minds think alike.’”

Hanzo actually chuckled at that.

“When’s the cathouse open for business?” Jesse asked next.

Hanzo cocked his head in confusion.

“Cathouse. Whorehouse? Brothel?”

“Why so many words?”

“We’re a poetical bunch,” Jesse shrugged.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and snorted, as if he _highly_ doubted that.

It was Jesse’s turn to chuckle. “I’m gettin’ an idea here, pardner,” he said finally, watching someone roll a barrel up the gangplank onto the ship. “It’s gonna take a few days. It’ll give Joe time ta relax though, he’ll stop lookin’ for ya.”

Hanzo looked unhappy about it taking any longer, but he could see the wisdom in it, and nodded. “What should we do in the meantime?”

Jesse thought about it, and then a sly grin split his lips. “You said you knew a bath house?”

“Oh, dear _lord_ ,” Jesse moaned happily, face-down on a table. The strong hands of a wiry Chinese man were working wonders on the sore muscles in his shoulders. “I feel like a lump a’ butter been left in the sun.”

“Is that good?” Hanzo’s voice floated from nearby.

Jesse just moaned, loud and long.

Hanzo chuckled. He was still in a tub behind a screen, enjoying the warm water and feeling it work out his own knots.

“I’m tellin’ ya, sugar,” Jesse’s voice continued, still with that floaty, dreamy quality. “I ain’t even knowed you a full day, but I c’n already tell I like ya. When we get through wi’ this job, remind me to make _you_ a business offer.”

Hanzo stilled. “What sort of business offer?”

But there was the slapping of hands against flesh as the masseur changed techniques, and Hanzo didn’t get an answer out of him.

At least, not for a while. But after the masseur left, Jesse appeared behind the screen, his hips wrapped in a towel. Hanzo had a sudden urge to cover himself up, but remembered Jesse’d already seen it. Then he toyed with the idea of taking Jesse’s towel… but the tub was too narrow… He tried not to bite his lips, tried not to let his eyes stray…

Too bad. Jesse saw it anyway, and Hanzo saw the glint in his eyes as he knelt beside the tub. It was really terribly unfair that this boisterous American was so good-looking…

“Wanna hear the plan?” Jesse asked, his lips twitching with amusement.

It was also terribly unfair that his smooth, rich voice made Hanzo’s insides go all melty… Hanzo couldn’t find his voice for a moment, and settled for nodding. Hoped he managed to scowl.

Had a terrible feeling he didn’t.

Saw Jesse grin.

Gods, he was turning into a mess. Hanzo forced himself to turn his head back to his own tub, his own body -

Where he was decidedly naked, and Jesse was _so close_ , and it would take hardly nothing for either of them to -

 _Stop it_ , he told himself sternly. Focus. There is a job to do. He looked back at Jesse -

Nearly yelped.

Jesse was _right there_ , leaning his elbows on the tub, grinning wickedly at him. As if he knew all the ways Hanzo’s thoughts were running, because his own thoughts were running there too.

“Anybody tell ya yer cute when yer mad at yerself?” Jesse grinned.

Hanzo frowned. “No.”

“Too bad.” Jesse kept on grinning at him.

Hanzo tried to hold his eye while he surreptitiously moved the washcloth around to cover himself - trying to hide his growing erection. He had a feeling Jesse saw it out of the corner of his eye, but he maintained the eye-contact too, his grin shifting subtly, as if it was a game.

Hanzo cleared his throat. “The plan?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jesse kept grinning at him.

Hanzo flicked water at him.

Jesse flinched. The spell was broken, Hanzo could breathe again. Jesse frowned as he wiped a few water droplets out of his face.

“Yeah.” He wiped a stray droplet over his left eye. Stuck his tongue out at Hanzo for it, childish. “So the plan is. The plan is… I can’t talk to you when yer naked.”

Hanzo did his best to feign surprise. “You were doing so well -”

“Liar. Get outta the tub.”

Hanzo held his eye as he smirked, put both hands on either side of the tub, and stood up, feeling the water and the wash cloth fall away, Jesse’s eyes on him. Aware of just _how much_ of himself was on display. He reached back, felt Jesse grab his hand for support as he stepped out of the tub.

Turned to smirk at him.

Jesse’s eyes roamed over him freely, from where he was still kneeling on the floor, surprise and awe and thirst. His eyes flicked repeatedly down Hanzo’s torso to his erection and then back to his face, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. Finally he swallowed hard. “May I?” His voice was hoarse.

Hanzo smiled graciously. Glad that it wasn’t _he_ who'd given ground. “As you please.”

Jesse’s hands went to his hips, then - his fingers a little longer, a little more beautiful, than Hanzo’s thick, powerful ones. They felt almost reverent as they moved Hanzo toward him, repositioned him where he wanted him. Hanzo quite liked the heat and the strength of them on his skin. He’d liked them last night, too, when they slid around his ass -

Closed his eyes and shivered as they slid around him now, warm hands against cooling skin. Hanzo opened his eyes enough to bury one hand in Jesse’s thick, soft hair, but didn’t need to _guide_ him. Which was a relief…

Because Hanzo instantly fell apart. Jesse’s warm mouth and soft lips knew _exactly_ what to do. Any thoughts Hanzo had of maintaining control were gone. All he was aware of were Jesse’s big, warm hands on his ass, kneading him gently, just enough movement to make him pulse a little bit into his mouth. Hanzo shivered up his whole body, one hand sliding deeper around Jesse’s head, quite liking the way the curve of Jesse’s skull nestled into his fingers, the other hand on his big, broad shoulder, steady as a rock, anchoring him. Hanzo heard himself moaning, words in Japanese, English, Mandarin, words of encouragement, and fleeting, desperate pleadings of his name.

Jesse broke suction long enough to moan “God, you’re gorgeous,” before taking him in again. He couldn’t take him _all_ the way in, but it didn’t matter - halfway was enough, if he knew what to do with it, and oh gods and ancestors, Jesse knew _exactly_ what to do with it. His right hand left Hanzo’s cheek, slid around down the crease of his thigh, thumb brushing his balls -

Hanzo whimpered, tightening.

“Sshh, not yet,” Jesse crooned, dropping kisses along his length, soft lips and calloused fingers. He buried his nose in Hanzo’s hair and breathed in, his soft exhale puffing warm, moist air against his skin -

Hanzo shuddered with ecstasy.

“Wanted to do this last night,” Jesse murmured, that smooth rich voice, every puff of air, driving Hanzo out of his mind. “Wanna do this every time.”

Hanzo could not, at this exact moment, imagine them _not_ doing this again. Of course they wou-

Warm, calloused fingers did _things_ to his balls, the delicate skin behind them. Jesse’s mouth was on him, and he was shivering, shuddering. His fingers tightened in Jesse’s hair. He was trying to thrust, held firmly between Jesse’s big hands. He wanted to chase it. He was right on the edge -

Jesse’s thumb against his base stopped him from finishing. Hanzo whined, his fingers tightening in Jesse’s hair, desperate and begging. Jesse tormented him still further. Stroking, pressing, until he found the spot that made Hanzo keen, high and loud and long. Then he moved his thumb and let him come, pulsing and hot, into his mouth.

Hanzo kept his grip as Jesse sucked him through his orgasm, pleasure crashing through him like gold light.

When he finally came down, Jesse was still holding him steady, mouth pressing soft kisses into his hip. Hanzo ran fingers through his hair, and when Jesse finally looked up at him, Hanzo smiled and knelt beside him. He didn’t know what to do or say -

Jesse had a glint in his eye again, a sly little smile. He beckoned Hanzo closer, and then licked into his mouth, giving him a taste of himself. Hanzo chased it back, hungry, not for the taste of himself but for the taste of _Jesse_ , his comforting warmth and sweet strength, trying to soak it up, to stockpile it for later. When he finally broke the kiss it wasn’t because he didn’t want more, but because he wanted _too many_. He would _never_ get enough. He leaned his forehead against Jesse instead, breathing in his scent.

“You…are very dangerous to me,” he finally admitted, still a little bit breathless.

“Why’s that, sugar?” Jesse murmured, lips kissing softly down his jaw.

Hanzo closed his eyes and leaned into it. “You make me forget why I’m here.”

Lips inched farther back, to his earlobe. Found the spot in his neck that made his breath stutter.

“I ain’t forgot the girls, sugar,” Jesse murmured, moving on to the curve of his shoulder. His hand in the small of Hanzo’s back was comforting and warm.

It wasn’t what Hanzo had meant.

But he let himself believe it for a while…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Of course_ I let them have sex at a bath house, d'you really think I wouldn't?? I'm still pissed that Brett Maverick never pulled Annabelle in.


	5. Lunch, Language, & The Plan

They took their time getting dressed at the bath house - Jesse insisted on paying - and then they wandered across town to his hotel. His room had been paid up a week in advance, but the week was now over and the hotel had already promised the room to someone else. Jesse grumpily asked about another room, but was told the hotel had no more available.

“Come stay with me,” Hanzo offered, as Jesse threw his things into his travel bags.

Jesse stopped and looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Hanzo stared back. “Yes?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I…would not offer.”

Jesse’s half-shy, crooked grin was like the rising sun, and Hanzo scowled and looked away, uneasy with himself again. He’d had plenty of sexual partners in Japan. Male-male love was accepted, celebrated, _normal_. He’d had romantic, childish, silly affairs and serious, adult-ish ones, affairs purely for business and affairs purely for his own pleasures, affairs in which he exchanged pledges of fidelity he fully meant to follow through on, and affairs which he knew would last until he didn’t want them to. He knew - or at least he _thought_ he knew - how to keep himself from getting attached. How to have an affair without heartbreak. How even to _enjoy_ the heartbreak.

But he hadn’t been kidding - Jesse _did_ make him forget why he was here. The American kept burrowing in deeper and deeper, apparently without effort, and Hanzo was getting the nasty feeling that it would soon do serious damage to remove him. He was stuck making desperate plans to leave town as soon as the Li business was over, while frantic memory kept throwing up Jesse’s off-hand comment about making him a business offer. Surely he could think of _some_ reason to keep the cowboy around a while lon-

“So, I been thinkin’ about the plan,” Jesse said. He carried a smaller bag to the dresser and swept everything into it with his arm. Hanzo winced, expecting broken bottles and dented tins. But no odd smells wafted up, and Jesse shook the bag to settle its contents before snapping it shut, and then stuffing it down into his bigger bag. “And when all this is over I think you should come with me.”

Hanzo stared at him in shock. His mouth dropped open.

Before he could ask or Jesse could explain, there was a knock at the door, and a man entered. “Housekeeping.”

“Right.” Jesse nodded, and made a last sweep of the room. “Think I got ever’thing.” He looked at Hanzo. “You ready?”

Hanzo nodded, Jesse grabbed his bags, and they left.

Hanzo had no voice, all the way across town, to ask what Jesse had meant about coming with him, though he did offer to carry one of Jesse's bags. Jesse, very politely, handed him the lighter one. It was needless gallantry - Hanzo could’ve easily carried both. But the very romantic, childish, silly part of him preened under the courtesy. It made him even more annoyed with himself, being evenly divided between desperation for the cowboy’s company and complete resolve to get away from him as fast as his dignity would allow. Jesse, for his part, seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and Hanzo wasn’t sure how he did it, and the mere fact that he _did_ do it got tussled over like two dragons with a pearl - one resolved to take it as a compliment, the other using it as proof he needed to get away. But as soon as they set foot in China Town Jesse puffed air out between his lips and relaxed.

Hanzo shot him a sideways look.

“Spent too long in the war,” Jesse muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face with a sheepish grin. “P’lite comp’ny makes me twitchy.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “You think China Town is not polite company?”

He wanted to laugh at the way Jesse’s face twitched, as he tried to figure out how best to explain what he’d meant in a way that wouldn’t get him into trouble. Hanzo wondered if he _knew_ his face was so expressive, and, for the next several minutes, the dragon that simply enjoyed Jesse’s company won the pearl.

“I-I jus’,” Jesse floundered finally, his mouth gaping open and shut like a fish. Finally he made a face. “Fancy white people make me nervous, a’ight?”

He shot Hanzo a sidelong frown, and Hanzo burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it.

Jesse stared at him for a second, eyes narrowed, and then he huffed, shaking his head. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yes,” Hanzo admitted, still chortling. Jesse made _him_ wildly uncomfortable. It was only fair he return the favor.

They stopped at a street vendor and Hanzo bought more steamed buns, this time, he said, filled with spiced meat and vegetables. Jesse’d had chiles before - of course he had. But this was so hot it felt like his mouth was burning off, and Hanzo laughed at him again, and dragged him to a tea shop. The near-boiling liquid didn’t do him any favors either, and Hanzo finally relented and ordered something white that he claimed was milk. It _looked_ like milk.

It didn’t _taste_ like milk.

Jesse sputtered and fussed, but he noticed the way Hanzo was laughing at him, his dark brown eyes still sparkling with amusement, and how he seemed more at ease. Somethin’ had happened between the bath house and the food stall that had made him uneasy, and Jesse quickly narrowed it down to the hotel. He’d suggested a business partnership at the bath house, and Hanzo’d seemed interested enough. Sex had mellowed him so thoroughly that Jesse’d had notions of going back to the hotel for another tumble. The lost room didn’t seem to have bothered him - he’d offered his own as substitute readily enough. Seemed, if Jesse parsed it fine enough, to even have been looking forward to the comp’ny. But afterwards -

Ah. _Afterwards._

Jesse parsed it finer. _Afterwards_ , as if he was _mad_ at himself for lookin’ forward to it.

Jesse watched him finish his own steamed bun without trouble, and wondered if it was about race. Jesse himself didn’t much care - cute was cute, and handsome was handsome, and Hanzo was so god-damn attractive it was like lookin’ at an Asian fairy prince. Moody as a racehorse and prickly as a porcupine, but Jesse was startin’ to like that about him. But who knew what reservations Hanzo’s people might have? What Hanzo himself might be feelin’? He’d seemed a little shy at first, at the bath house-

No, not _shy_. _Mad_ at himself. Jesse’d called it, and Hanzo’s reaction’d told him he’d called it correctly. The moment Jesse’d made it clear he wasn’t put off by that scowl - and he was startin’ to suspect Hanzo relied a great deal on that scowl - the moment he'd made it clear he’d seen Hanzo blush, seen the way his pulse'd jumped in his throat and his pupils dilated and his breathing hitched when he'd seen Jesse in nuthin’ but a towel, the way he tried to cover his own erection - the way that scowl had deepened when Jesse called him out, called him cute. Like was not only mad at himself for _likin’_ somebody, but mad about bein’ _caught_ at it. Jesse started to wonder where on earth Hanzo'd come from that this was a problem. What’d Hanzo say, somethin’ about ‘you make me forget why I’m here’? Was that it? Was he -

“Are you sweet on the Li girl or sum’in? Engaged to her?”

Hanzo stared at him as if he’d just lost his god-damned mind.

Jesse chuckled and waved a hand. “Forget I asked.”

Hanzo got that shy, annoyed-with-himself look again, and bit one corner of his lip. It made the rest of his lip stick out, plump and soft, and Jesse wanted nibble on it for him. “I do not,” he said carefully, suddenly looking anywhere _but_ Jesse, “actually like women.” He bit the other corner of his lip - Jesse had a sudden urge to throw himself across the table at it - before he added “At all.”

\- which Jesse just barely resisted. _Just_.

He forced himself to stay calm. To nod, instead. He didn't even bother holding back a wicked grin. “Seems like we’re in the same boat that way, then.”

Hanzo’s face was half turned away, but his eyes slid back cautiously to Jesse. His expression was at war, between a blush, a frown, and deeply-buried amusement. He settled on a faintly-amused frown, eventually, while he thought. “You said you have a plan? To get the girl?”

Jesse leaned across the table. “What’s your last name? Your family name?”

Hanzo hesitated, suddenly wary. “Shimada. Shimada Hanzo.”

“Well then, Shimada Hanzo, you’re the biggest fuckin’ tease I ever seen, an’ if you don’t take me back to that hotel room and make me naked I will never forgive you.”

Exasperated amusement won. Hanzo didn’t outright laugh, though it was a close thing, and he tried valiantly to hang onto the scowl, which he failed miserably at. He finally raised his chin. “You must tell me the plan on the way there.”

Which Jesse took to mean “Walk fast.”

Hanzo disliked the plan.

He disliked it loudly and vociferously, and at length, long after they got back to the hotel, and Jesse was still dressed, and startin’ to wonder if they were gonna _stay_ that way until it was time to leave again.

Jesse shaved while he waited, until finally Hanzo ran outta air. “You finished?”

Hanzo shot him a dirty look. “Your plan is foolish.”

“My plan will get us _in_. If Yella Joe knows you’re makin’ a fuss about the girl, he’s liable to move her. That’s no good for us. We gotta make sure he keeps her there.”

“What if he sees you? He saw you at the saloon, he knows you are helping me.”

“That’s why we’re gonna make sure he’s not there, sugar,” Jesse repeated, patiently. “You’re gonna send him a message, tell him ya wanna meet up, somewhere neutral, everybody safe, no lawmen -”

“ _He_ will show up with armed guards.”

“A’ course he will,” Jesse agreed easily. “But nobody said _you_ actually have to be there.”

Hanzo gave him a long, still-unhappy look. “When I do not come, he will _know_ , he will go back to the boat.”

“And by that time I will be long gone,” Jesse agreed.

“You will not get another chance at that.”

“’F everything goes right, I won’t need one.”

Hanzo couldn’t find a flaw in the plan, and he didn’t like _that_ , either. It was almost _too_ well thought-out. “What if something goes wrong? What if he doesn’t leave the ship? What if -”

“He goes to the same saloon every night, like he has all week. It’s all the way over on th’ other side a’ town. Send your message. Ask to meet him someplace _near_ there. If you don’t leave China Town much, and he likes to play at bein’ high ‘n mighty, he’ll feel comfortable over there. It’ll make him cocky.”

Hanzo liked this even less, and folded his arms, leaning against the doorway and pouting.

“How do I look?” Jesse asked, patting his freshly-shaved face with a towel and grinning. He turned his head side-to-side, to give Hanzo a chance to look him over.

Hanzo snorted and muttered under his breath in Japanese. Looked at Jesse. “What am I to do while you are at the cat’s house?”

“Cathouse, sugar,” Jesse said. “It’s one word.”

“Cat house,” Hanzo repeated.

Jesse shook his head, biting back a grin. “Cathouse. You don’ really say the ‘t’, it’s more like… a breath stop.”

“Caaa-house.”

Jesse snickered.

Hanzo glared at him and rattled off something annoyed in Japanese.

Jesse cocked his head, eyes wide with amusement. “Eres tan espinoso como un maldito cactus a veces, ¿sabes eso?” _You’re as prickly as a fuckin’ cactus sometimes, y'know that?_

Hanzo froze, staring at him.

Jesse chuckled. “¿O pensaste que eres el único que sabe insultar a la gente en otro idioma?” _Or did you think you’re the only one who knows how to insult people in another language?_ He looked him over. “Ciertamente tienes la actitud a veces. Por suerta para ti, me está empezando a gustar.” _You certainly have the attitude sometimes. Lucky for you, I’m startin’ to like it._

Hanzo glared even more. Stuck his tongue out at him childishly. “Tú también.” _So do you._

Jesse laughed outright. “¿Donde aprendiste a hablar español? ¿ _Cómo_? ¿Por qué? ¿Cuando?” _Where did you learn to speak Spanish?_ _How_ _? Why? When?_

Hanzo shrugged, one-shouldered. “Una misión española en Los Ángeles.” _A Spanish mission in Los Angeles._ He didn’t elaborate.

“Eso explica tu acento…” Jesse mused, scratching the back of his neck. _That explains your accent…_ He looked away again. Thought a minute. Squinted teasingly at Hanzo. “Táim ag buille faoi thuairim nach féidir leat Gaeilge a labhairt, áfach.” _I’m guessing you can’t speak [Irish] Gaelic, though._

Hanzo frowned.

Jesse’s grin widened. “Agus mura h-e Gaeilge a th ‘ann, gu dearbh chan e Gàidhlig na h-Alba a bharrachd.” _And if not Irish, then certainly not Scots Gaelic, either._

Hanzo’s scowl deepened.

“Et je t'épargnerais mon terrible accent français,” Jesse mused, idly scratching up underneath his jaw. “Sans vouloir me vanter." _And I’ll spare you my terrible French accent…I don't want to brag.  
_

Hanzo snorted in annoyance and turned away.

Jesse had mercy on him and let it drop.

“I know what I’m doin’, sugar,” he said quietly.

Hanzo picked at his own sleeve. “I have known you _one day_ , I think you _never_ know what you are doing.”

He heard Jesse chuckle softly, heard the faint ching of his spurs as he crossed the room. Jesse’s hands slid around his waist, and Hanzo didn’t even try to pretend they weren’t comforting, how easily his own hands slid around Jesse in return, how much better it made him feel to bury his face against Jesse’s shirt, in the corner between his neck and chin. Jesse settled him in comfortably, one hand cradling the back of his head. He didn’t miss the way Hanzo tried to burrow in a little bit deeper, hands pulling him a little tighter. Jesse wondered why on earth the man was so at war with himself, when surrender was so clearly the option he wanted.

 _High-strung as a racehorse_ , Jesse thought again, remembering how much Hanzo had seemed to _enjoy_ the saloon fight. Maybe it was idleness that made him testy.

“I know a lot a’ people who’d agree with ya,” Jesse murmured, his freshly-shaved cheek nestled against the top of Hanzo’s silken head. “An’ it’s real sweet that you’re worried.” He pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s temple, or close thereto, and Hanzo poutily turned his head away, even as his hands held Jesse close. “Tell ya what,” Jesse mused finally. “Come down to the docks with me - keep to the shadows - and keep an eye out. Just in case.”

Hanzo nodded agreement. That adjustment made him feel better.

He _was not_ going to think about why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations courtesy of Google. If I got something wrong, lemme know
> 
> Also, I really do not mean to tease - there will be actual plot in the next chapter, I promise! It's just that, for all he seems like a surface-level character, Jesse is more complicated than Hanzo, and I'm trying to figure him out as I go.


	6. Hound in the Cathouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long y'all. In the last month (!) I've had some personal drama, and then had to _recover_ from the personal drama, and it cut into my writing and posting. Rest assured - I _have not forgotten_ about any of my fics, and now that things are calming down I am hard at work, adding more chapters, ironing out kinks, and plotting my way towards the finish line. Stay tuned! Love y'all. ❤

They left the hotel an hour after dusk. Jesse was dressed to the nines, dressed to impress, in the best clothes he had with him, from hat to greatcoat, waistcoat, and spurs. Hanzo walked with him, nearly unrecognizable in baggy, dark cotton clothes and a conical Chinese-style hat. He even carried himself differently - world-weary and beaten down - and if Jesse hadn’t seen him get dressed he would’ve mistaken him for another Chinese laborer headed home. Which, Hanzo’d told him, was exactly the point.

“The Shimada are ninja,” Hanzo explained quietly, as he led Jesse down to the docks - always a half-step ahead, as if Jesse were someone important, and Hanzo merely a day-laborer he’d lassoed into leading the way.

“Wha’s that mean?” Jesse asked, walking along with his hands in his pants pockets, his Colt Peacemaker heavy and obvious on his hip.

It took Hanzo a few seconds to find the words, and to say them without shame or boastfulness. “Spies. Assassins. It is our job to blend in and go unnoticed.”

Jesse stopped dead.

Hanzo carried on a few steps, and then realized Jesse wasn’t with him and turned back.

Jesse’s expression was open, obvious - _startled_ \- under the glow of the lamplight, and Hanzo couldn’t tell what it meant.

“You mean to tell me,” Jesse said softly, wonderingly, “all this time, you coulda just killed your way in and out to get her, and you didn’t?”

Hanzo shifted nervously, clasping his hands together under the baggy sleeves. “Yes?”

“Why not?”

Hanzo looked shame-faced, and turned his head away. “I…have killed someone I should not have. I do not want to make that same mistake again.”

“Sugar, why didn’t you say so?” Jesse asked, stepping closer. “Is that why you been so worried about _me_?”

Hanzo nodded.

“Aw, hell.” Jesse even stepped closer, and cupped a hand to Hanzo’s cheek. “I wish you’d told me sooner. I ain’t a saint, sugar, not by any means. I did roughly the same job durin’ the war. Only I don’t got the same hang-ups as you.” He smiled down at Hanzo, who was still looking pinched and worried, and ran thumbs over his cheeks. “Can’t kiss ya with these hats,” he murmured, just to make Hanzo start and grin. “I ain’t a lamb goin’ to the slaughter, Han. I’m - ” he cast around for the appropriate analogy. “I’m a tiger. I might _look_ like a kitten in striped pajamas -” he winked, making Hanzo’s grin deepen “- but I assure you, I have teeth. And I’ll get back out with my skin intact, don’t you worry.”

Hanzo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, let it all back out with a nod.

“Good. I owe ya a kiss.” He waited until Hanzo looked up at him again, and then winked.

Hanzo turned away to hide his smile, and led them on through the darkness.

They split up near the docks. Hanzo went ahead, settling on some crates against the side of a building, well in the shadows, where he could keep an eye on the boat but be conveniently ignored.

Two blocks back, Jesse lit a match and puffed his cigar, letting the tobacco mellow him. He always got wound up before a job, and he’d long since learned that it could make him stupid. He’d expected to take a tumble with Hanzo and unwind that way, but Hanzo was clearly winding up the other direction, so Jesse hadn’t pushed. Instead, he stood in the shadows and puffed, watching the ship, feeling his mind gathering itself up, tidying away all of his distractions. Memories of Hanzo at the bathhouse got dawdled over fondly, before he tucked them away in a mental pocket for safekeeping. Memories of the Lis, worried about their daughter, got brought up instead, and Jesse wondered if she was one of the girls fluttering about on deck calling to johns.

He knew how it worked.

Hadn’t wanted to tell Hanzo.

A surprising number of women _chose_ this life.

Jesse’d seen it happen, heard the women themselves confirm it. A new mining town sprang up, full of nuthin’ but men, and single women flocked to it. Okay, not exactly _flocked_ \- but enough to get attention. Madams ran their brothels like businesses, like bastions of civility - which they often were, the only sources of doilies and clean beds and feminine company in the entire territory. Many madams refused to hire virgins. Doctors checked them regularly for diseases, bouncers kept infected men out, and the brothels doubled as hotels and field hospitals when a mine collapsed or the army came through. Out East, it might be besmirchin’ a man’s honor to have a wife who came from a cathouse, or a daughter who left for one. But out on the Prairies, or way up in the mountains, it was about the only way for men and women to meet. As the towns grew up, the brothels were regarded as essential businesses, the madams as pillars of the community - respected, loved, sometimes even feared. With the potential to banish any man who misbehaved, the madams swung a hammer as heavy as any preacher’s, and they weren’t afraid to use it. Dozens - hundreds - of girls left the business to get married with gold in their pockets they wouldn’t have got otherwise. Others stayed in the business for years, started their own houses, even ran for office, leveraging their notoriety.

No, the trick wasn’t whether or not the Li girl was at the brothel. It was whether or not she wanted to _stay_.

And what to do with the Lis and Hanzo if she did.

There was also the risk that Hanzo’s bar fight the night before had raised the alarm about her. That had been the main source of Hanzo’s protests - he’d been worried that Yella Joe would still be hidin’ out at the brothel - Hanzo said he lived there - and that Jesse’s arrival would attract his attention, start yet another fight. Jesse himself wasn’t too worried about that. They’d left a bit earlier than they needed to, and sure enough, as Jesse watched, the wannabe _tong_ leader ambled down the ship’s gangplank right about the time Jesse’d thought he would - albeit with two black eyes and a nasty temper. He looked like he planned to be out for a while, but Jesse was countin’ on Hanzo’s note to _keep_ him out. Whether or not Hanzo’s no-show set the alarm tonight was irrelevant.

It might even be helpful later.

When it was clear that the ship and the johns and the doves were all carrying on as if it were business as usual, Jesse stubbed his cigar out and shouldered up out of the darkness.

From his clothing to his gun to the way he carried himself, there was nothing about him that could be called subtle. At 6’1”, and nearly a full head taller than any man around, he’d long since learned it would never do him any good to try, anyway. He knew he was handsome, and he’d long since discovered he enjoyed the attention - male and female alike. He enjoyed it now, as he ambled out of the darkness and up the brightly lit dock to the ship, heard the catcalls and whistles as women leered over the railing at him. He’d got comfortable at brothels during the war, learned how to use another man’s interest in a girl to his own advantage. And he _always_ enjoyed flirtin’. He let himself grin at them now, tipping his hat, fiddling with his cigar, as he eyed them appreciatively. “Ladies.”

They were all Chinese women, in colorful robes - Hanzo’d called them kimonos - and -

Two muscle men stopped him at the gangplank. White men, with guns, though neither were as big as he and his. “No guns aboard,” one of them growled, eyeballing the flashy Colt Peacemaker on Jesse’s hip. “Leave it here.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jesse told him bluntly. He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and peeled open the front of his greatcoat, revealing a silver star-in-circle badge. “US Deputy Marshall Jesse McCree. Yella Joe around?”

The muscle men looked at each other warily. The one on Jesse’s right had a split lip and swollen jaw, and Jesse hoped the man had gotten it from someone else.

“He’s out,” the right one said.

“Got a madam?”

Another look.

“I’ll take you to her,” the left one said.

Jesse nodded. “Much obliged.”

The muscle man led him up the gangplank, and Jesse ogled and leered at the women as he passed. If the Li girl was one of them, he’d soon find out.

The main room on the ship - what would’ve been the captain’s quarters - had been fitted over as a saloon, with a bar and plenty of card tables. Smoke hung heavy in the air - cheap tobacco, judging from the bitter smell. Men were gathered to play cards, Chinese and white men mingling, if not quite happily, at least comfortably. More doves dealt cards or hung over their shoulders or sat beside them, offering advice and distractions. If the house took a percentage of every pot, it explained how Yella Joe could afford to go to the other side of town and gamble like money was air.

The far end of the saloon, by the big window, was done up like a parlor, with comfy chairs and a pale blue settee. The madam was holding court from the settee, and from her Western clothes and Eastern make-up, Jesse got the impression that the ship ran on a mix of illusions - from the affordable exoticness of the Chinese girls in their kimonos, to the cheap but familiar luxury of overpriced cards, drink, and cigars, to the actual, civilized society the men were severely lacking.

He’d got familiar with this, too, Out East. Let it swing around him as familiarly as his greatcoat.

The madam eyed him warily as he approached - his manner and appearance screamed money or trouble, and he could go either way. He tucked the cigar into his jacket pocket, not wanting to imply he wouldn’t buy one of hers, and smiled broadly at her.

“No guns!” she snapped, her accent pronounced but understandable.

“Deputy Marshall.” Jesse peeled his greatcoat back again to show her his badge.

She scowled.

“You the madam?” Jesse asked.

“Catrin Ching.” ‘Catherine’ wouldn’t be the name she was born with of course, but Jesse couldn’t blame her for using one the men could pronounce.

He jerked his head at the men and doves sitting around talking, and the men, at least, understood the message to scram. Jesse grinned at Ma Ching and then sat, almost _lounging_ , beside her on the settee. “Was wonderin’ if you might be able t’ help me out.”

She looked him over thoroughly - still not sure if he was money or trouble. “We do our best to follow the law,” she said, giving away nothing.

“Man came to see me today, claimin’ y’all are holdin’ a girl here, last name a’ Li? Says she came over on the boat with her parents, from China. Only they got separated somehow, and he says the girl’s bein’ forced to work here. Says that he’s tried to buy her out a few times, but yer boss, Yella Joe, won’t let her go.”

The madam continued to look him over carefully, her expression harder to read under her face paint. It made her look exotic, cold, and elegant at the same time. “None of my girls are _forced_ to work here,” she said carefully, navigating the traps Jesse’d spread out for her. “But some of them are poor, and cannot pay their way over. Yewa Joe -” she had the same trouble with L’s that Hanzo had “- offers to let them pay their bill when they get here.” She raised her jaw, looking at Jesse through narrowed eyes. “They have several choices. They do not _have_ to work here.”

Jesse wondered if that were true. And if so, what the other options were. But he nodded thoughtfully. “You unnerstand, I have to ask, when a man comes and tells me he’s offered to pay the bill, why she’s not allowed to go?”

“He did not offer enough.” Another prim, cold look. “The girls must eat, have clothes to wear, see a doctor to make sure they are clean. Is not cheap, paying for twenty such girls.”

Jesse nodded. “Unnerstandable,” he murmured. “Unnerstandable.” His eyes lit on a humidor. “May I?”

She blinked, startled, and then grabbed the box. “One dollar.”

Jesse reached for his wallet without batting an eyelash, letting her get a good look at the money he carried. Gabe’d sent him with plenty of cash to recruit, and Jesse was a dab hand at cards. Even staying a few extra days, Gabe’d turn a profit. He peeled out a dollar bill and handed it to her without hesitation, then folded the wallet back up and stuffed it in his outer greatcoat pocket, within easy reach. He saw her staring at it while he lit the cigar on a nearby lamp. Pickpocket or patroness - he wondered which she’d go with.

“You unnerstand I’ll have to talk with the girl, confirm this whole business,” he added casually, sitting back. The cigar was as cheap and bitter as it smelled, but he hid his displeasure at it.

“Which Li girl?” the madam asked, shrugging. “We have two.”

“Qi Li,” Jesse said, careful to pronounce it right. “Or Li Qi, I s’pose,” he grinned. Hanzo’d told him the name meant something like ‘jade rose.’ “Her father’s the bartender at the hotel in China Town,” he added.

The madam’s face soured, and Jesse bet she didn’t like him knowing that much. It suggested he’d been snooping around in Yella Joe’s business _before_ he came to see her. She beckoned to a burly Chinaman, and spoke sharply to him. Then she smiled thinly at Jesse. “Hsin will bring her.”

“Oh,” Jesse blinked in surprise, and then grinned again, all thinly-disguised false innocence. “Well, I was hopin’ to spend a lil time with her in _private_ , you unnerstand?” He winked, and let his drawl thicken. “Make sure f’r m‘self that she’s all right, ‘fore I go back and tell this Hanzo that he’s meddlin’. You unnerstand.” He winked again.

The madam’s mood changed on a dime. “Oh! Oh, of course!”

“I’d be happy to compensate for her time,” he added, reaching for his wallet again. “Seein’ as how she’ll be losin’ business for, say a half hour?”

“Don’t be silly!” the madam gushed. “Qi Li _always_ has time for a handsome lawman. Take as long as you like.”

“Much obliged.” Jesse winked.

She spoke sharply to Hsin again, and the burly Chinaman led him back out on deck and then, as Jesse’d suspected, down into the hold.

The doves’ working quarters had once been the secondary crew decks, and Jesse wouldn’t put it past the madam to parcel out the better rooms based solely on who was in her good graces. Which meant Qi Li in a room right now might _not_ be in the same room tomorrow. He could hear the various expected noises as he passed, other rooms quiet, their occupants topside fishing for clients.

Hsin led him to a smaller, plainer room and pushed the door open without knocking.

The girl inside stood up quickly, alarmed. She paled in front of Hsin, but seemed to know better than to cower. She tried to hide her dismay when she caught sight of Jesse.

He could understand why. He was easily twice her weight, nearly a foot taller. She looked like a doll in comparison. Dressed in a plain white robe, hair undone - he guessed she was being kept below-decks as a precaution.

Hsin was barking at the girl. She answered, resigned, clutching the front of her robe and looking away, disinterested.

Hsin looked back at Jesse and nodded for him to go on in.

“Much obliged,” Jesse nodded.

Hsin didn’t budge.

“You c’n run along,” Jesse prodded. “Need to talk t’ the girl in _private_ , if you catch my drift.”

Hsin glared between him and the girl and then stomped out.

Jesse shut the door behind him. “Boy, is _he_ a real fun character.” The girl just watched him. “You Qi Li?”

She nodded carefully.

Jesse fished a note up out of his pocket and gave it to her. Mr Li’d said his daughter could read, and Jesse’d gotten him to write up a note saying who Jesse was and why he was there. She read it carefully, then looked just as carefully at Jesse. Slowly she pulled her hair back and showed him the tiny mole behind her ear, the identifying mark her father had suggested. She’d had it since she was a baby. Jesse remembered the way Mr Li’d crumpled with the memory.

Jesse showed her his badge. She either didn’t know what it meant or wasn’t impressed by it. He puffed the cigar while he took his great coat off and draped it over the room’s only chair, then sat down and took his boots and pants off. She watched him dully, face sliding away into disinterest. He kept his shirt and waistcoat on, but motioned for her to take off her robe.

He hated this part. It made him feel _sick_ , the look on her face, the thoroughly-cowed way she turned her back to him as she started to undress. He caught the robe before it hit the floor and swung it around his own shoulders, then stepped past her to the bed.

He could feel her confusion. She was so tiny, it must be easy for most men to -

He shoved the thought aside and sat down.

She cocked her head at him, frowning. Stepped forward to join him.

He held his hand up sternly for her to stay put. Then he pulled a pencil out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her, and waved at the note - there was a bit on the backside, asking for information, if Mr Li had translated properly.

Then he winked at her, and, with her tiny cheap cotton robe barely stretching across his broad shoulders, he laid back on the bed, looked up at one corner of the ceiling, and started making loud, lewd comments, stopping occasionally to kiss the back of his hand.

She burst into giggles when she realized what he was doing, and slapped both hands over her mouth. Jesse grinned at her and kept going.

For the next thirty minutes, he laid on her bed while she wrote at the little table, and continued making the most obscene noises he could think of, occasionally rolling onto his back or his side, thumping a fist or a heel against the wall for emphasis. He kept smoking, too, though he was careful to keep the ash off her bed. When he finally “finished” - as loudly and obscenely as possible - she was laughing so hard behind her hand, and struggling so hard to keep quiet, that she had tears in her eyes. Jesse threw her another broad wink and a grin, and laid there quietly for a few more minutes. Then he got up, stubbed the cigar out in the ash try nearby, handed back her robe - which was now thoroughly wrinkled, and covered in the scent of his cologne and cigar smoke - and put his pants back on, stuffed his feet in his boots, and put his greatcoat on. She stopped him at the door and handed him the note and pencil, then waved for him to lean down. She undid his top shirt button, and thoroughly messed up his hair, before finger-combing it roughly back into place.

“Thank ya, darlin’,” he winked.

She kissed his cheek.

Jesse felt a bit guilty about that - it had been such an easy thing to fake. But he thought about Hanzo getting naked the first time until he got the appropriate silly grin on his face, and then sailed out into the hallway.

Not surprisingly, Hsin was still there waiting for him.

“ _Great_ lil gal, there,” Jesse grinned, giving the guard a broad wink and a slap on the back. “Tell Ma Ching I’ll be back tomorra, huh?” He stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled happily as he ambled topside, neither slowing down nor waiting for the guard to catch up.

Three blocks later, and out of sight of the ship, Hanzo melted out of the darkness and fell into step beside him. Jesse knew it was Hanzo by the quality of his silence.

“She’s there,” Jesse said quietly.

Hanzo grinned like a wild thing.


	7. NOTES & Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My research, notes, and personal thoughts about the 1800s in general, and the "wild, wild west" in particular. It's not all pretty and gold.

The only phase of American Expansion to happen concurrently with the technology that made it possible to _publicize_ it, the history of the Wild West got mythologized at the same moment it was being made. But scratch through the veneer, and the history of the “Wild, Wild West” gets real ugly, real fast. Especially for women, Native Americans, and Chinese. 

Though one would expect blacks in the West to be as much-maligned as the others, the US government forbade the creation of new slave states as the country expanded (another nail in the coffin of “Union” as far as the South was concerned) and both before and after the US Civil War many blacks headed west to start new lives and avoid controversy. How well they succeeded is another story for another day.

But the systematic American mistreatment of Chinese immigrants is almost as deplorable, and in some ways _worse_ , than attitudes towards blacks at the time. The Westward Expansion of America in the 1800s overlaps with a Chinese drought in 1816, driving the first big wave - some 22,000 or more - of Chinese immigrants to American shores. The Taiping Rebellion in the 1850s-1864 - what Wikipedia calls “the bloodiest civil war in history” - decimated China… right as gold was discovered in the California Territory. Tens, if not hundreds, of thousands fled to the place Chinese popular imagination dubbed “Gold Mountain” - a semi-mythical heaven-on-earth roughly equivalent to El Dorado. Like that fabled city, however, the new immigrants found mostly back-breaking poverty, and men who were all too eager to abuse them in every way possible. Though cheap Chinese labor provided the backbone that built the Pacific Branch of the Transcontinental Railroad, cultural differences (and complete disrespect), got the Chinese laborers labeled inferior and morally corrupt. Animosity ran so high that in the 1880s the US government enacted laws which forbade Chinese immigration entirely, laws not changed until the 1940s. They stood for over 60 years, the only laws in US history to completely ban a group of people from immigrating, based _solely_ on skin color and ethnicity. 

Ch 1 - Katana

* Katana and wakizashi - Overwatch canon says Hanzo was as good or better with swords than even Genji - he just gave them up after Genji’s “death,” believing they were “too easy” for anyone to use. A period-accurate bow, however, would be entirely too cumbersome for him to walk around with every day. Wild West Hanzo is gonna keep his blades for now. 

* Chinks and Chinamen - thankfully both terms are mostly unheard of today (I vaguely remember when “Chinaman” was discouraged, sometime in the early 90s), but these were common terms for Chinese immigrants back then. “Chink” was a slur even then, but I haven’t been able to tell how strong of one. “Chinaman” was practically respectful for the era, relatively speaking.

* Yellow (Yella) - calling someone by their skincolor seems to have been a “thing” back then - black/negro/n*r being only the most offensive, and held onto the longest. Native Americans were often called “red men” or “red skins” (the last being held onto by sports teams long past the point where we all know better). The Chinese got “yellow.” Unfortunately for them, yellow also already had connotations of cowardice (”yellow-bellied” being a common insult, meaning a coward who’d roll over and show his belly at the first sign of trouble). It wasn’t long before all sorts of other negative associations followed.

* Sing-song language - another fairly offensive term today, this was, I think, a fairly accurate description when it was first used. Mandarin Chinese is completely tonal-based - the same arrangement of letters can have something like 5 different meanings, depending on the inflection. In contrast, English and most Western languages use tone to indicate mood - everything from sarcasm to inquiry to playfulness. This means that, to a Western ear, not only can Mandarin Chinese sound unfortunately like children’s play-talk, it was also instantly, _incredibly_ difficult for either side to get even a basic understanding of what the other was trying to say. (Mandarin and English remain about the two most difficult languages for each other to learn.)

Unfortunately, this language barrier, along with the Chinese immigrants’ generally smaller physical stature (probably due to a lot of malnutrition - most immigrants were poor) and the White Men’s own deeply-ingrained sense of superiority, plus religious and social hierarchy differences, combined to produce about the biggest culture clash in history at the time, and ensured that the Chinese were regarded by the whites as either subhuman, or else deeply, deeply morally bankrupt. ( _Naturally_ nobody wanted to look at how ethically the White Men were behaving. Of course not. Manifest Destiny - the deeply socio-religious view that told them they were _entitled_ to the continent - pretty much gave them _carte blanche_ to behave however they wanted.) I have pretty much zero doubt that, had the US government allowed it, California would’ve entered the Union as a slave state, with the Chinese as the slaves. 

* Walt Whitman - Men in the West outnumbered women more than 3:1, and "homosexuality" wasn't a word until the 1920s. Male-male sexual relationships were not only common, but TrueWestMagazine.com reports that they were practical, frequently romantic, and generally accepted. (Check out "truewestmagazine.com/old-west-homosexuality-homos-on-the-range" for an interesting read.) Referring to Walt Whitman, an American poet known at the time for his relationships with men, or to his work, was a sort of code for sussing out if a potential partner was of a similar mindset. _And I just realized I didn't actually put a reference to Walt Whitman in the fic. Oh well. Here's your random bit of trivia for the day._  


Ch 2 - China Town

* Please forgive me, y’all. I have Hanzo dressed more of a Chinese way than a Japanese way - Japanese clothing culture dictates the kimono gets tucked _int_ o the hakama, not worn overtop like a jacket. He should also have 2 or 3 layers of undergarments, all of which get individually tied. I am too tired to fix this. Let’s agree he tweaked his dressing style and wanted to get naked fast, okay? California is _hot_. And it’s… _plausible_ , right?? I’m sure Jesse won’t mind… _Ha! Hanzo's a ninja, he'll try to blend in. There ya go - I knew I had a reason!  
_

* Trouble with his L's - native Japanese-speakers learning English often have a great deal of trouble saying the Western “L”. Because of this, American soldiers in the Pacific theater during WW2, Korea, and Vietnam often used L-heavy passwords like "lollapalooza" to tell friend from foe. My own grandfather was sent to Iwo Jima, and remembers hearing Japanese men trying to say “lollipop” - it would often, he said, come out sounding more like “rorry-pop,” and was an instant, easy way to identify a foe, even in the dark.

* Immigration - unfortunately, these immigration schemes were all too common, and racial hatred dictated that the law did almost nothing to stop them, nor to help the immigrants who were being taken advantage of. The boat ride over was usually overcrowded, and conditions were deplorable and unsanitary. If you’ve ever heard about the slave ships from Africa, imagine those, minus the chains. The massive numbers of immigrants, combined with the overwhelming racism felt towards the Chinese, meant boats were frequently told they couldn’t dock, and theoretically sent back to China. I have to imagine that most of them simply sailed up or down the coast and tried somewhere else - the ship owners unwilling to lose money on the trip. Once they got off the boat, immigrants were, naturally, reminded that they still owed the shipping company for their passage. I don’t know the details of the schemes, but I can imagine they included “company” work for the railroad and mines. There was little incentive for ship owners to be honest about the expenses, nor to let the workers go when it was paid. Women were especially vulnerable. Most men left their families behind in China, expecting to bring them over once they’d established themselves, but women traveling alone - especially younger women - were basically walking into prostitution. 

* Prostitution - except for Oregon and Utah, where settlers very sensibly took their women with them, men in the West outnumbered women 3:1, and in some cases more. Prostitution, though technically illegal, was widely looked on as a necessity, and it was _extremely_ good business. The average prostitute was in her 20s, came from every possible background - from socialites bored with strict social conventions to desperate rape victims - and, to a one, were all considered “unfit” to be married because of their profession. There are very, very few, if any, records of any man making an effort to reclaim a “shamed” wife, daughter, sister, or betrothed - their families considered them dead. Most of them had depressingly short, horrible lives, dying of violence (gunshot wounds and beatings), alcoholism, laudanum (a highly addictive form of liquid opium used as a painkiller), suicide-by-alcohol, suicide-by-laudanum-overdose, and venereal disease. Most were dead by their 40s. Very few became madams themselves, and even fewer achieved respectability. Almost none of them lived long enough, nor made enough money, to retire. I can think of only one that was ever accepted into “polite” society (her name is escaping me). These women watched their towns grow up around them, while social conventions ensured they had no means whatsoever to get out of the business or to provide any kind of “honorable” living for themselves. The government and lawmen made more use of their services than it made efforts to see they were taken care of. There were more regulations on the buildings they lived in than on the treatment of the women themselves. If you’re ever on the fence about the need for feminism, go research 19th C. prostitutes. And then get fucking _pissed_. 

  
Ch 3 - Sex

* Sex - Getting an STD was a known and acceptable risk in that era. “Safe sex” wasn’t a thing. Sex with foreigners? I mean, when you’re a white man who believes he’s God’s gift to the world (note my heavy, _heavy_ sarcasm, please) any sex is great as long as you’re the one on top. Jesse doesn’t have most of that era’s prejudices, mostly because I can’t bring myself to believe that that smol dumb hat-wearing bean ever would. And in the American West? As I said, men outnumbered women 3:1. True West Magazine points out that most frontiersmen of that era were, above all else, _practical_ \- if they wanted sex, and other men did too, they saw no harm in having sex with each other. 

Likewise, in pre-Meiji-era Japan, homosexuality was never particularly taboo (scholars still debate its prevalence and acceptance in China), though male-male relationships were usually the distressing (to us) form known as pederasty - socially-acceptable sex between an older, experienced male and a pre-pubescent or pubescent boy in his charge. At least in the early days. Like Ancient Rome, there were a whole host of rules and restrictions about who could do what to who, but as the centuries went along Japanese culture got flexible about who it considered the “man” and who the “boy” - and how old they actually had to be. By the late 1600s, “man” and “boy” seem to refer more toward who was the penetrating, and who the penetrated, partner, though the terms “man” and “boy” - “boy” especially - were kept as kind of a long-running cultural in-joke. This tradition and flexibility didn’t really start becoming a problem until the Meiji Period, when the outside world’s influence on Japan seems to have made the entire country self-conscious. The acceptance of homosexual practices, especially male-male, faded after the turn of the 19th Century into the 20th, as Japan strove to make itself more Western. 

But can I be real, here? The modern idea of sexuality as these very strictly-defined gay/cis/bi categories? These have only cropped up anywhere in the world in the last hundred to hundred-and-fifty years or so. Before that, nearly every major culture regarded sexuality and sexual attraction as natural, fluid, and dynamic - or at least had an awareness that sexuality and sexual attraction were both highly personalized. There has been very, very little emphasis placed on the rightness or wrongness of being attracted to people of either gender, or both, or all, or none (with the possible exception, as noted, of China). And even the ideas about what constituted “gender” are different than we imagine them today. Even in Western European history - throughout the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, straight on through the Wild West, and the Catholic Church in general - the taboos against homosexuality and sex outside of marriage are far, _far_ less strict than the worried Victorians of the late 1800s and the revisionist McCarthyism of the 1950s-60s would have you believe. Hit up Google and Wikipedia with any variation of “Sex and Sexuality” or “Homosexuality” “in [insert culture]”, and be prepared for some absolutely eye-opening reads. 

* Laundry and Tailoring - the stereotype of the Chinese launderer and tailor was based in fact. In such a vast region with so few women to do that sort of work, the jobs were often taken up by Chinese immigrants. It was a fairly profitable and dependable way to make a living in areas where they were frequently muscled out of the mines, robbed, cheated, or all of the above. 

* Japan, not China - Japanese emigration to American wasn’t really a _thing_ like it was for the Chinese, at least not early on. In 1868, just about the time the Taiping Rebellion in China was winding down, Japan switched from the inward-focused Edo Period, which had been dominated by the samurai class, to the outward-looking Meiji Period, which welcomed contact with the outside world and allowed it to heavily influence Japanese culture. Wikipedia says that as late as 1870, there were only 55 Japanese souls recorded in the US - by 1890 that number had risen by only 2,000. Japanese emigration to the US didn’t really take off until the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 (remember? aimed solely and exclusively at the Chinese?) opened up the need for cheap labor. The 1904-1905 Russo-Japanese War decimated the Japanese economy, and by 1908, 127,000 new Japanese had entered America. They fared little better than their Chinese counterparts, racism- and discrimination-wise, and Japanese immigration was mostly banned from 1924-1965. (Gods, we Americans are assholes sometimes, y’know that?)

* Rescuers-for-Hire - masculine honor in both China and America at the time decreed that such prostituted women were lost souls, a dishonor to their families, and/or as good as dead (even if they’d been sold and/or raped against their will). I am writing a story in which Hanzo and Jesse rescue some because I need a story in which somebody gives a damn. It’s called fix-it fic. 

Ch 5 - Lunch

* Lunch - I had difficulty finding out anything about American street food in the West, though I suspect it was mostly bland and tasteless. Chinese street food has a long and delicious history, though I had difficulty finding anything 1800's-specific. I did my best. Filled steamed buns sounded like a safe (and tasty) option. Chinese food uses, I think, hotter kinds of chilis than Mexican. What Hanzo calls milk is actually soy milk. I dunno if it had made it over here by then or not, but it seems reasonable to me that the Chinese would bring more than just noodles when they emigrated. Some of them _had_ to have known how to make this stuff. And expats _always_ want their comfort foods from home, so there _had_ to have been a market for it. I also fudged the tea shop. They probably should have ordered food from there.

CH 6 - Cathouse

*SO. In a case of "Examine your own prejudices before you write or speak" I did some more research into prostitution of the era and discovered that, like so many other things in life, it was more complicated than I gave it credit for, and then many feminists (I suspect) want to admit. Jesse's thoughts about prostitution? Yeah, that's pretty much the summation of my research. With one caveat: _it pretty much only applied to white women and Americans_. Chinese prostitution of the era is shaping up to be the more objectionable human trafficking kind (I WILL keep doing research before I include that in a chapter! lesson learned), so I have a feeling this will be Jesse and Hanzo's first real culture clash. Yella Joe lets Catrin Ching _appear_ to run the brothel because it was the set-up that white men would be familiar and comfortable with at the time. At best, she will be a lesser business partner. At worst, she will be as beholden to the man as the girls are.

* _Tongs_ were Chinese-run gangs, similar to the modern Japanese _yakuza_. In American Chinatowns, _tongs_ ran the Chinese brothels more of the Chinese way - girls usually sold into prostitution by their families, overseen by heavy-handed pimps, rather than choosing the life themselves and being overseen by madams. Again, I will do more research.

Who knew I would have to do so much research into 19th Century prostitution??

* And hey, did you notice Hanzo gets to be a ninja for a few seconds?? Like any good spy/assassin, they were always _supposed_ to blend in.

**Author's Note:**

> See the last chapter - which will always get moved so it _stays_ the last chapter - for some of my research, notes, and thoughts about the era.


End file.
